


You Don't Know What You Do To Me

by Cynthia_Silver



Series: Destiel Smut [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Stimulation, BAMF Castiel, Begging, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sharing Clothes, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:26:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cynthia_Silver/pseuds/Cynthia_Silver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas and Dean, worn out, snuggle up together.  Snuggles turn into smut when Dean unintentionally rubs Cas the right way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Don't Know What You Do To Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coldplaying_In_The_TARDIS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coldplaying_In_The_TARDIS/gifts).



The towel scratched softly Dean’s scalp as he rubbed away the significance of the moisture there.  In his mind, however, with a sense of triumph and awe, he reflected on the rapid-fire memories of a few hours ago: sulfur and the scent of blood and sweat, adrenaline driving away pain, his brother at his back, then huddling almost instinctively to the ground as Cas’s eyes and skin began to glow with grace and fury— then a blinding light, blinding even through Dean’s arm, thrown up in defense against Castiel’s power.

These things replayed through Dean’s mind on a loop, even as he clothed himself and placed a hand on the doorknob.  Images of burnt-out demons were wiped away easily by the reality of Cas, who was flopped gracelessly over the side of the bed, face towards the blinking television screen and still wearing his bloody, dirty clothes, uncleaned because the angel simply hadn't the strength in his grace to do so.  Dean looked up when Sam shouldered past him, headed for the shower, and patted Dean roughly on the back as he did so, an exhausted gesture of congratulation at the victory.  Dean attempted to return the gesture but ended up missing and patting the door instead.  Oh well.  He knew Sam would get the memo eventually, and right now he was too tired to care.

It wasn’t that bone-weary exhaustion that they felt when defeat came to them.  Rather, it was an invigorating thing to feel, like the soreness after a rigorous exercise that gives one a sense of accomplishment, or the feeling one gets when they have survived some hardship and came through better in the end.

Dean returned his attention to the angel, who was probably a little more tired than Sam or Dean, judging by the way his feet dangled off the side of the bed.  Cas smiled softly when he looked up to see Dean staring at him.  It wasn’t that Cas _couldn’t_ get up.  He just didn’t feel like there was anything at the moment that was worth the effort.

“You’re not gonna sleep—“  Dean caught himself, “ _rest_ in that, are you Cas?”  Dean questioned, eyebrows raised as he gestured towards the red flecks and sooty smears on Cas’s white shirt.

Cas’s brows furrowed, his smile drooping.  “Why not?  I can just clean it when I have the energy,” he explained, feeling as though lounging around in a shirt covered in demon blood and warehouse filth was an acceptable thing.

Dean sighed, shaking his head as he helped Cas up and out of his clothes, tossing them to the side in a droopy, sad little pile.  Dean pecked the angel on the cheek before turning away from him, then began to rummage through his possessions until he uncovered a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.  “Here,” he said, tossing Cas his clothes.  Cas almost didn’t catch the bundle as he stood in his boxers, distracted by the unusual feeling of air on his vessel’s skin.

With as much care as he could muster, Cas poked his limbs through the appropriate spaces in the clothing as Dean went to fetch the remote from the desk.  When Dean turned around, his cheeks flushed a little. Seeing Cas in such tight clothes (and wasn’t it sad that sweatpants were comparatively tight?), especially _his_ clothes, always pleased him in multiple ways. 

Dean helped Cas lower himself to his former position on his belly, head turned to stare through the television.  It’s not that he needed the help, but neither of them minded the proximity. Dean took his place behind Cas, with his head propped up on one of his arms, lying on his side, and resting his free hand lightly on the small of Cas’s back.  The warmth it produced was very agreeable to the angel.

The sound of the shower starting up roared dully through the thin walls as the two settled down to watch this documentary on the history of werewolf mythology.  Such documentaries usually amused Dean in their absurdity, and Cas was very interested in watching whatever programs humanity had to offer.  He drank it in and found it sweet, as like to the way a hummingbird sips nectar.

As Dean began to become more engrossed in the documentary, he fell into his old habit of stroking Cas’s skin.  It was not unusual for Dean to absently rub at Cas’s arms or shoulders or even his legs when they were together like this, mostly watching movies or crap television in dingy motel rooms. A slight tickle followed obediently behind Dean’s fingertips as he mindlessly trailed his hand up Cas’s back.  Cas closed his eyes, loving the sensation more than the TV.

Dean’s hand stalled over Cas’s spine for a few minutes before pulling away to pick up the remote to turn up the volume.  It was difficult to hear over Sam’s chronic shower singing.  Dean let it go.  It was Queen, at least.  When Dean’s hand returned to Cas’s back, it fell on Cas’s shoulder blades.  Cas let out a soft, unheard hum of pleasure at even that slight pressure on the sensitive place where his wings protruded when he chose to manifest them.

Memories of Dean pulling and massaging at his wings when he made love to Cas caused Cas’s groin to tingle.  As if in response, Dean began stroking Cas’s back again, eyes still glued to the screen, and to Cas, that felt—oh, that felt _fantastic_.  He buried his head in his arms to stifle a moan.  The light, teasing strokes on that sensitive spot made Cas harden.  It was dirty and had to be wrong somehow, but it sent a thrill through Cas, especially as he felt the growing pressure on his grace to manifest his wings.  He knew he wasn't able to do so when his grace was so weak, however, and so attempted to think of something else.  He failed. “Dean…” he groaned into his arms, not sure if he even wanted Dean to stop.  Dean did not hear him, but rather continued to watch, unaware of the stimulation he was giving the angel.  Cas felt the same way he did when Dean would stroke the feathers at the ends of his wings, which was a glorious sensation.

Did Dean realize what he was doing to Cas?  Cas wondered through every pulse of guilty pleasure.  He was sure Dean knew about the spot, but did he realize now that he was making Cas feel so... Cas's brain couldn't supply a word other than 'good' here.

Dean stroked and caressed lightly, and Cas felt every touch through Dean's shirt.  He was almost lost to the pleasure, and Cas felt the heat build until suddenly, to his dismay, Dean’s hand stilled, mid stroke, leaving Cas hard and wanting.  There was a great temptation within Cas to hump the mattress for friction, but he didn’t think Dean would appreciate it much if Cas… soiled… his sweatpants.  He had to tell Dean.  He lifted his head and opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment Dean shifted his position, and the mattress suddenly pressed up against Cas’s erection, ripping a moan from Cas’s throat that Dean _definitely_ heard.

Cas’s cheeks reddened immediately as Dean looked down at him, eyes wide, though Cas couldn't see Dean's face from where he was lying.  “D-Dean, I—“ he stammered, voice wrecked by his arousal, unsure if his voice could even be heard.  Dean glanced from Cas’s dilated pupils to his hand before he realized where exactly he was touching the angel.

Dean immediately jerked his hand away.  _Oh._  Dean swallowed as Cas began panting.  Dean opened his mouth and closed it a couple of times before he managed to say, unsure, “Do you want—“ 

“Please,” Cas moaned, clutching at the sheets now, because oh did he want.

Dean's thoughts stopped, and then suddenly restarted on a completely different tact.  Dean smirked as he realized his position.  He slipped his fingers under Cas’s shirt, reaching up to the spot he knew Cas wanted him to touch.  He traced teasingly along the edge of it, and Cas whimpered and began rutting against the sheets.  “Do you like this, feathers?”  Dean teased, loving the way Cas seemed to break under his touch.  "Did you like that I didn't know?"

“Dean, _please_ ,” was the begged response from Cas, who was desperately trying to control the motion of his hips, and failing. "Please, I'm going to-"

He was silenced as Dean pulled his hand out of the shirt and swung a leg over Cas, careful not to press down yet.  Once he had gained his balance, he sat down on Cas’s hips and began massaging his shoulder blades, forcing Cas’s hips into the mattress with his own hips as he did so, rolling in time with his massages.  Cas made a choked noise, eyes snapping open. The combined pleasures sent Cas over the edge, causing him to come in his borrowed clothes.  He shuddered and went limp beneath Dean, his hands releasing their grip on the sheets. 

Dean reluctantly stopped his motion and forced himself to roll off of Cas, even as the angel twitched.  He didn’t want _both_ of them to need new clothes and didn’t have time to clean up before Sam reentered the picture, so he would take care of himself later, in the bathroom, once Sam had decided he was done with his shower-slash-American-Idol-practice-session.  He used his pent up sexual frustration as energy to go find another set of boxers and sweatpants for his angel, who was still struggling to catch his breath.  Dean heard the water go off and hurriedly pulled the soiled clothes off of Cas and helped him with the clean ones. 

Tucking the sweatpants and boxers into his duffel to clean later, he caught a glimpse of Castiel’s seed on his clothes.  The thought caused him to harden more, and when Sam stepped out of the bathroom, steam rolling after him, Dean quickly and wordlessly pushed into the room, all but slamming the door behind him.  Sam _really_ tried to ignore the smell and the sated vibes he was getting from Cas.  He clenched his jaw and hurried towards his bed so he could attempt to smother the mental images his mind was unhelpfully producing.  Cas stared after him sympathetically, but was simply too blissed out to care much.

Dean, meanwhile, was very much enjoying himself to thoughts of the sleepy angel in the next room.

 


End file.
